Muddy
by morning sun
Summary: "I hate you," Draco said quietly, not looking at her. Hermione nodded. "I know." Draco and Hermione try to work through a world of differences. Will an Unbreakable Vow help, or hinder? M for a reason. Updates to follow.
1. Unbreakable Vows

**Muddy**

By: morning sun

_**Authors Note**_: This fiction is decidedly AU. Some of the events will match up, but for the most part I'll be taking creative liberties. Also, this is my first circulated Harry Potter fan fiction, be kind. Oh, and take mind of the rating. M=Mature.

_**Disclaimer**_: I own nothing.

* * *

><p><em><strong>3<strong>__**rd**__** year**_

"Oh!"

_SPLAT_!

Draco couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed more fully than he thought he ever had, throwing back his head and practically shouting with glee. The laugh was loud enough in fact that across the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts a flock of silver winged birds took flight in alarm. He could care less, laughing so hard now he was holding a stich in his side.

Draco laughed because in front of him, glaring with angry brown eyes, was Hermione Granger, sprawled on her back in the wet mud and dirt. A moment before she'd been walking ahead of him, her head down and her frizzy brown locks whipping behind her as the wind blew this way and that. He'd been watching her, wondering why she was by herself as she trudged the grounds, going the direction of the greenhouses. Where was the rest of the Golden Trio on this grey and damp winter morning? And did he dare chance throwing a snide remark her way? He'd been pondering this when- apparently not observing her step- she had lost balance on a particularly large patch of muddied earth. She'd teetered for a moment, trying desperately to gain her balance. But the stack of books she held in both her hands and inside of her pack, weighing her down considerably, made her go careening down into the mud, landing flat on her back.

So Draco laughed. He laughed so hard in fact, that before he really knew what was happening he'd lost his balance and had slipped in the muddy patch of earth he himself had been standing in, his laughter cut off abruptly as his legs slipped forward. Landing on his arse, Draco groaned and then glared as Hermione began to chuckle directly opposite from him.

"Sod off, Granger," he sneered, doing his best to look regal as he shook the mud caked to his pale hands.

Hermione hummed and shook her head. Carefully she began to stand, balancing herself with cautious steps. Once on her two feet she muttered a few unheard spells that made the ground beneath her dry instantaneously (so much so there was now actually dust billowing at her feet), and with another unspoken flick of her wand her books levitated and stacked themselves, floating next to her as she used her wand to vanish the mud on her robes.

"Thanks, Malfoy," She began offhandedly. "I needed a laugh."

It was then that Draco noticed, still sprawled on the ground, that her eyes were red rimmed, as though she'd been crying. He stood, pushing away his though of why and deciding he didn't care. Before he could do so himself, Hermione dried the mud beneath his feet, decidedly less dust billowing around his legs then when she'd done the spell for herself. She looked at him, as if wanting to say something more. Draco made sure his face was as cold and hateful as ever, clearly telling her he did not want her to ask him anything.

Hermione sighed, and with a thoughtful look on her face she let the books drop gently in her awaiting hands and walked away, back towards the greenhouse, leaving Draco to think to himself how very odd that mudblood truly was.

* * *

><p><em><strong>4<strong>__**th**__** year**_

He'd never tell anyone that he'd grabbed her hand. Not ever.

Harry had come from the triwizard tournament, amongst the screams of Gryffindor approval, as champion. He cursed, glaring at the witch he'd somehow ended up sitting next to with the limited space in the bleachers of the Quiddich pitch. She was jumping and hooting with that Ron Weasley, ignoring his and various other disappointed Slytherins boos and hisses completely.

And then someone screamed, a real scream of horror and surprise, and without thinking Draco grabbed her hand and squeezed, finally noticing that Cedric Diggory was indeed with Harry, but he was not moving.

Cedric was quite still.

There was a moment where time stood still, screeching to a dramatic and staggering halt as the scene developed before their very eyes. And then it speed back up and confusion settled back in, thrumming a discorded staccato through the crowd.

Was Cedric… Dead?

Draco finally realized that, without thinking, he'd grabbed Hermione's hand. He looked at the joined appendages, clutching to the other in fright and mutual uncertainty. His eyes followed from her hand to her elbow, and finally rested on her face. She was looking at him, eyes wide, fear and tears in her eyes at the scene before them. And Draco knew that she saw it in his eyes as well.

He released he hand as if it were venom, and without a backwards glance Hermione grabbed that _Weasleys_ elbow and steered him down the bleachers, running full out, her hair flying behind her as she made her way to the figures below.

Draco grimaced.

* * *

><p>Hermione found Draco wandering the halls late that night, slipping from the hospital wing and using Harry's map to find him. She didn't know why she'd thought to look for him. She certainly didn't assume to think that she knew he'd been wandering the vast halls of the school, but just now she was working on impulse- which was not her usual mode of operation. She found him in an abandoned room close to the astronomy tower, covered in the darkness of the clouded night, pacing and muttering. She hid in the shadows for a few moments, watching him run a hand countless times through his platinum hair before she made herself known.<p>

"… Malfoy?"

Draco jerked his head in her direction, surprise quickly vanquished and replaced with a sneer.

"What do you want, mudblood," he spat, leaning his hip on the cool stone wall and crossing his arms. She thought he looked livid, though she couldn't quite tell with the lack of torchlight. It was then that the moon made an appearance through one of the many windows, and Hermione saw his face clearly. His eyes were red rimmed.

Ignoring this revelation, Hermione stepped closer, closing the door behind her.

"Malfoy… Are you alright?" Hermione's voice was hesitant, trembling even. Draco scowled.

"Why wouldn't I be? What's it to me, if some silly Hufflepuff goes and gets himself murdered? Diggory was a git, I'm better off not having to see his bloody face. …Too bad it wasn't Potter."

Hermione winced at his harsh words, but still she kept on. This was important, she knew it was. She felt it in her bones.

"Malfoy… no one needs to know, if you want to talk to me. I won't tell anyone."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "_Talk to you_? Why the _bloody hell_ would I want to do _that_? Do you think, Granger, that I need a shoulder to cry on? From a mudblood no less! Talk to you, for Merlin's sake, I'd rather not to _look_ at you."

There was silence stretching between them, Draco glaring and Hermione fidgeting.

"… Besides," Draco added after a bit, "You'd run and tell Potter and that _Weasel_ as soon as you got the chance."

Draco thought, even to his own ears, that it sounded like he was trying to make her convince him. Like he needed her to fight to make him give in, to at least give the illusion that he'd initially resisted her offer.

Because he wanted to talk, to someone, anyone, and she was the only person he knew who would understand.

As if reading his silent plea, Hermione quickly protested. "Not at all! I'd never reveal anything… I swear."

Draco looked at her, wanting so badly to confide, amazed by the feeling of it. He'd never wanted to talk to anyone before about personal things. But now, when so much was happening…

"How do I know Potter didn't send you to spy?" He asked.

"He wouldn't do that._ I_ wouldn't do that," she replied, moving a step closer to him.

"Weasley would," he said cuttingly, balling his fists.

"I swear to you, Draco Malfoy, I will not repeat a word you tell me."

The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional groaning of pipes, or the whistling of the wind outside. It went on for so long that Hermione opened her mouth to try again, feeling that perhaps he was remaining quiet to be irksome (if so, it was working). Draco began to speak, however.

"An Unbreakable Vow, you have to make one," he said, his voice quiet. The words in themselves were an admission that he indeed wanted to speak plainly to her, inhibited by distrust and social restrictions.

Hermione gave a sharp intake of breath. She knew what an Unbreakable Vow was. To condescend it, to break it, was instantaneous death. There was a deafening and impenetrable silence as she mulled it over. He needed her, she knew. Floors below them Harry lay, surrounded by friends and people close enough to be family. He would always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear to talk to. … A hand to hold. Draco Malfoy had none of these things. He could not confide if he was upset by Cedric's death (as she suspected he was) to another Slytherin. He could not vent to his Death Eater father. He could not betray his house or his family with an outside friendship or bond.

He was alone.

Just when Draco though that now would be a good time to take his leave (she'd been silent so long he'd felt the need to flee) Hermione said, with no hesitance, "Who shall bond us? We need a third."

"My old house elf," Draco supplied, his voice quiet and indecipherable. "He will be bound by the duties of a house elf, no matter how _free_ he is, to keep his mouth shut. Also… he's seen it done before."

Hermione nodded, twirling a curl of hair between her fingers in a nervous sort of way. "All right," she finally conceded. "Dobby?"

There was a loud crack as the house elf appeared. When he noticed Draco, he cowered.

After a few more minutes assuring Dobby that she was indeed there of her own accord, Hermione explained what she wanted the house elf to do.

"Please, Dobby, I know you are a free elf, but please do this as a favor to me. You can't… tell anyone. Not even Harry."

Dobby was indignant.

"Dobby is not liking this, Miss," he exclaimed. "Master Malfoy is a bad wizard, you is not to be trusting him!"

It took much more pleading, and some thinly veiled threats on Draco's part, to get Dobby to reluctantly agree.

"Dobby is doing this," he said, taking the wand Hermione offered him with hesitancy, "but Dobby is not liking it."

They each told him the Vows they wanted him to perform, Hermione adding her own to Draco's (though Draco scowled at her for doing so). And then the Vow began.

They clasped arms, kneeling so Dobby could perform the needed magic at his own height.

"Will you, Hermione Granger, swears to be keeping Draco Malfoy's secrets and tell no one of them, unless given express permission by him alone to reveal them?"

Hermione's heart raced and she felt her body tremble.

"I will."

"Will you, Draco Malfoy, keep Hermione Grangers secrets, and tell no one they has been given to you."

Draco sneered, "I will."

Dobby breathed sharply, "And do you both," he continued, "Swear to keep any meetings and conversations a secret, unless mutually agreeing to…" he paused, thinking of the word Hermione had used. She mouthed it to him. "Divulge the information," Dobby finished.

In unison, after a long and disparaging look, they both said, "I will."

The fire that licked up their hands and wrists, sealing the Vow, did not burn. It was a bright and luminescent white, tinged with green and gold hues. Hermione gasped as she felt the spell settle into her very bones, and she watched as Draco gave an almost pained expression, as if the feeling had hurt him.

Dobby vanished after that, saying nothing, but giving Hermione back her wand and supplying her with a look what was clearly disappointed and regretful. Draco stood, striding away from her to stand at his place by the window. Hermione stood as well, but she did not go to him. Instead, she waited.

"I hate you," Draco said quietly, not looking at her.

Hermione nodded. "I know."

Then he slid to the floor, resting his head between his knees.

"I don't want anyone to die," he said softly, sounding as though the weight of saying it may cause the death of him. There was a brief silence before he continued.

"I don't… I don't want anyone to die. And I didn't hate Cedric."

* * *

><p><em><strong>5<strong>__**th**__** year**_

They hadn't spoken. Hermione had thought, after that night months ago, Draco might want to talk to her more. But he only said those hopeless and pitiful words before standing and, looking very angry with himself, walking out of the room in the astronomy corridor. Hermione sighed and half listened to what Ron was telling them, something about Quidditch, picking at her bacon and toast and wondering for what seemed like the millionth time what the point of an Unbreakable Vow was if Draco wasn't even going to speak to her. The git.

As if summoned by the thought, Hermione looked up, only to see Draco staring at her from his place at the Slytherin table. His eyes looked at her, meaningful, before he looked away, focusing all his attention on his plate of eggs.

Try as she might, Hermione could not attract his gaze a second time. Even when they'd ended up standing shoulder to shoulder on the way out of the Great Hall he'd ignored her. There was nothing for it. She'd have to wait until tonight and go to the room in the astronomy tower, hoping that was what his silent message had meant.

* * *

><p>Draco entered the room well after midnight, startling Hermione- who'd been sleeping with her head down on a charred desk for hours.<p>

"I know it's late. I got held up," he explained. "Filch was… prowling."

Hermione nodded, rubbing her eyes. The silence stretched as she waited for Draco to speak. Finally he made his way farther into the classroom, taking a seat at the desk next to her.

"…He's a Death Eater."

Hermione concealed her pity at his revealing of his father's nefarious double life. "I know," she replied.

More silence.

"…I've…. I've seen the Dark Lord. I've met him."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh?"

Draco shot her a disgusted look. "He's… he's not what I thought. Father always talked about him so… reverently. Like he was a God. … He's… broken. He's…"

Draco paused and looked at her, thinking hard about the word he was about to utter.

"He's cruel," he finished, looking defeated.

Hermione nodded. "He is. And he's a half-blood as well. All that talk of cleansing, and he doesn't even meet the qualifications."

Draco looked scandalized. "Half-blood?" Then he glared. "Are you telling me this to make me think more highly of your tainted blood?" he shot as her.

Hermione raised her head, set her jaw. "No. I'm just telling you what I know, Malfoy."

Draco grimaced but did not respond, mentally deciding whether or not to believe this information. Hermione seemed to read his mind.

"Tom Riddle," she provided. "His name… You can look it up if you'd like, though I don't think it will reveal much. His original title is in the Hogwarts records, he was a student in the forties."

Draco sighed, knowing there wasn't really any reason for her to lie, and laid his head on the desk he occupied. "I feel like… Like I'm being pulled in different directions," he said, his voice muffled. "Like father wants me to go one way, and I… I want to go another. … I hate Harry for having a choice."

Hermione let her face contort with the pity she felt ravaging it for only a moment, before hiding it so he would not see. She thought about her experiences so far in 5th year, wanting to share as well ask questions. Finally she asked, hesitantly, "That awful Umbridge woman… why are you helping her?"

Draco raised his head, "because I hate Harry. … And because my Father said to keep on her good side. She's _an important pure blooded official_, as he'd say."

He looked miserable, though he didn't act it during the time she'd seen him. Normally, in his Slytherin element, he seemed to revel and thrive in his unpleasant and almost sadistic behavior. What would Harry say, if he could witness this more vulnerable side?

_Probably that he's trying to trick you. That he's going to turn you over to his Father like a bloody holiday gift,_ She though.

And then Hermione thought of the Vow. He could do no such thing without risking death.

"I'm awful," Draco suddenly said, looking at her with sad, albeit accusatory eyes. "Why are you helping _me_?"

Hermione swallowed. She'd been wondering the same thing herself.

"I don't really know. I don't… I don't think you want to be awful, Malfoy. And… I think you need a friend."

Draco snorted. "You are _not_ my friend," he bit out through clenched teeth.

Hermione nodded. "Certainly not. … But you can talk to me. And that's something."

Malfoy didn't concede, but he didn't disagree either. He stared into the middle distance, not really seeing anything as his mind became a jumble of confused and disjointed thoughts.

Finally he said, "Granger. … I don't want to be a Death Eater."

Hermione's smile was grim, "I don't want to die by a Death Eater," she replied, and Draco found that this was indeed something he hadn't truly considered. His father, with all his harping and preaching of blood lines, would kill Hermione Granger in a heartbeat, if given the chance.

So his echoed words from their first meeting seemed appropriate, even if he did think she was a bloody chit.

"I don't want anyone to die."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Authors Note<strong>_: This was something I did throughout the day, and was originally only supposed to be a one shot. It's grown into a bit more at this point, however. Still, probably only going to be 4 or so chapters. The next chapter (when it will be posted I don't know) will consist of the two of them still being in their 5th year. And, seeing as this is meant to be short and semi-sweet, we'll be moving right along to the main plot point. Hope you are enjoying thus far.

Also, I'd be loath if not to mention that I was prompted by a creative spurt brought on by the author Bedelia. Her fictions are amazing and if you've never had the pleasure you should make your way there _NOW_!

Reviews are cherished. :)


	2. Haunt

**Disclaimer**: Don't own it. If I did the books would have been called Draco Malfoy, and they'd not have been made for children.

**Author's Note**: Just a reminder that this is AU, and will not follow the books. Some areas will be similar but much creative license will be taking place. No e-mails about how I left parts of the book out of this. It was done purposely! :)

_**Muddy**_

**Chapter 2: Haunt**

_You'll awaken  
>Someday when it's too late<br>You'll suddenly find me gone.  
>Will my memory haunt you long?<br>Will you wake up at nights to my song?_

-Haunt, By Terry Moore

_5__th__ year, continued…_

Draco tried to explain away the meetings with Hermione. When they'd first taken the Vow he'd been able to tell himself that with the shock of Cedric Diggory's death he'd made a foolhardy and impulsive blunder. He hadn't been in his right frame of mind. And why Diggory's passing should bother him so much he couldn't put a finger on. He'd never really spoken to the older boy, but the death struck him. Other than being in that god awful house, there hadn't really been anything _wrong_ with Cedric.

Though he had, on multiple occasions, wished him death.

Draco could feel the shame creeping around his neck whenever he remembered the words he's shared with his fellow Slytherins. _"Maybe Diggory and that git Potter will go and get themselves offed."_

He'd meant it then, when he'd said that. He'd said the words and had truly hoped for their fruition. He hadn't thought anything of the death of his enemies. But now Cedric _was_ dead, and he found the reality of it harrowing.

But he had been able to push all that aside. The first night after Cedric's death he'd been vulnerable, perhaps. But after the fact, the mere thought of pursuing the Vow with Hermione any further made him feel ill. Embarrassment found its way into every inch of his being when he thought of what he'd done. No, he would not seek her out again. There was _nothing_ in the entire Wizarding world he wanted to do less than talk to that mudblood.

Except, perhaps, join the ranks of Death Eaters.

All his life he had thought that if the time came, he'd be honored to become one of the Dark Lord's esteemed followers. He'd even fantasized about the day in his younger years, acting out his own made up versions of adventures he'd have- eradicating the world of muggles, blood traitors and mudbloods. His father had planted that seed, and so as a child it had been a high aspiration of Draco's to one day follow in his father's footsteps.

And then, in the dead of night, Lucius Malfoy had woken Draco and led him to the study of Malfoy Manor- whispering cautions like "_be respectful", "bow to him",_ and "_call him My Lord"_. And then there, sitting in a high backed chair with his fingers steepled in thought, was the Dark Lord.

He'd been cold, frightening, and it was then that Draco realized with a cold shock that if he were to serve Lord Voldemort he'd be required to commit murder. That thought had made his heart drop to the floor. He would not, he knew, be able to kill anyone. Not a muggle, not a mudblood, not anyone.

Once the Dark Lord had gone with the dramatic sweeping of robes, Draco had finally posed a question to his father that he'd been burning to ask.

"Father… why did he kill Cedric Diggory?"

It had taken five whole minutes to remind his father who he was talking about. Then Lucius had said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, "Why, I suppose he was in the way."

As if Cedric were furniture that needed moving.

Draco had tried to stave off the panic building inside him. He truly had. But as school started and the weeks wore on, he thought perhaps he would lose his mind. Lucius Malfoy expected him to become a Death Eater. Slytherin's and Gryffindor's alike expected him to become a Death Eater. Hell, it would be easier to make a list of people who _didn't_ expect this of him.

The only name he could think of was Granger's. She might have thought it before the Vow, but not now. Not after his admission that he wanted no one to die.

He'd caught her eye by chance, and in that brief moment of contact he'd willed her to understand what it was he needed. And she had, of course. She'd been there, waiting for him as he'd hoped all day she would be. Draco then made his own silent vow. He'd never depend on her, and she'd never be more than a mudblood.

And so weeks went by, months went by, and Draco was loath to realize that his own personal vow was for naught. He was depending more and more on the late night meetings with Hermione, as much as he denied it to himself. Once every week or so he'd give her that meaningful look, and just after midnight they'd meet in the Astronomy wing, in the abandoned classroom with its hodgepodge of broken and mismatched desks, and its scattering of threadbare rugs.

At first he'd told her of his Father and the Dark Lord, wanting to ease this pressure he felt at the impending choice he'd have to make about becoming a Death Eater. She gave him comfort where comfort should not have been given. She eased his fear and anxiety- even if it was only for a few mindless hours. Never in his life had he been able to talk to someone the way he talked to Granger.

"Right now Father says I'll need to wait till I'm of age… Mother convinced him," he supplied one evening, and he watched as Hermione's face contorted from pity to anger.

"That's bullocks. You don't get to make your own choices? Can't you move away when you come of age?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't think there's anywhere I could go that they wouldn't find me."

In the months to come, the conversations turned gradually, hesitantly, to Hermione. At first she only answered the questions he posed to her. She revealed the existence of Dumbledore's Army when Draco questioned her repeatedly on the subject (though she said nothing more than; "it exists, and it's needed, Malfoy. That horrible woman would have us failing our exams otherwise- and we need defensive spells now more than ever, what with Voldemort's return). She spoke very tepidly on her limited knowledge of Voldemort's time at Hogwarts and, finally, she offered him a smattering of detail on Potter's recounting of the night of the final task in the triwizard tournament.

"There wasn't time to save Cedric," she said. "Voldemort just… killed him. Like he was nothing. There wasn't time for him to defend himself."

Draco knew that she revealed all of this only the very firm knowledge that he could tell no one. And while she did, Draco often cursed her for having the foresight to make him Vow not to divulge her secrets as well. Because even though he talked to her, even though he revealed his secrets to her, Draco convinced himself that she was not, by any accounts, anything more than a mudblood serving a temporary service and that if he could turn on her, he would.

And one day it changed. One day, she went from _that mudblood_ to _Hermione_, so quickly that it made his head spin.

Draco had already tracked her down to the library and muttered indistinctly to her a short request for a meeting. She'd nodded infinitesimally in response. Then Potter had shown up, and Draco had made himself busy in a row of books about Harpies. The row was close enough that he could overhear Harry saying to her, "Did Malfoy say anything to you?"

"No," she replied.

Draco heard Harry say, in a pondering sort of way, "I wonder what's up with him. He's been… less of a prat lately."

Draco crept closer.

Hermione's voice was an octave too high when she asked, "What do you mean?"

There was a pause as they absorbed a glare from Madame Pince, then Harry shrugged. "Haven't you noticed that he's been… ignoring us? Usually he'll go out of his way to be a git. Not that he isn't one. I heard him making fun of Hannah Abbot the other day. Something about her robes being passed down."

Draco smirked. He had indeed done that, speaking loudly as she passed to his fellow Slytherin's. The girl had looked like she was going to cry when she ran off towards the loo.

Hermione frowned. "Oh, did he?"

Draco thought she looked disappointed when he saw the side profile of her face. He did a mental shrug. What did she expect?

It was then that Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini entered the library. Draco walked down the isle and existed on the other side, father away from Potter and Granger. His two housemates were already diverging on the pair, however, so Draco joined them, catching the tail end of what Crabbe was saying to Potter.

"… know you're up to something."

_Ah_, Draco thought. They were asking about Potters secret DA meetings. And though Draco knew a smattering about "Dumbledore's Army" there was nothing to it. Hermione had told him in secret, and even thinking of revealing the information caused a warning flash of pain- courtesy of that dammed vow- to shoot through his body.

"Yes Potter, what _have_ you been up to?" Draco drawled from behind them. Harry ignored him as Draco joined his fellow Slytherins. Hermione, on the other hand, looked quite livid. He wondered if it was because she'd thought them _friends_. That made him smirk. Never bloody likely.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, gripping the edges of her book with hands shaking in anger.

"Watch your back Potter, or your mudblood friend might find herself in danger."

Hermione looked struck, and it gave Draco a great satisfaction. Harry was up out of his seat so quickly that chair fell loudly to the floor. But before anything else could happen Madam Pince was upon then, snarling that they leave.

It wasn't until later that night that Draco realized the gravity of what he'd said. He entered the abandoned classroom, the piercing dark of the midnight hour enveloping him, to find it uncharacteristically empty. And though he waited, Hermione did not show.

* * *

><p>Hermione was hurt. She'd tried to deny it, but there it was. For weeks now she thought that maybe, possibly, Draco was changing. He seemed so much more vulnerable, and he'd been less of a snobbish prat when they met lately. She thought that coming to her, admitting he needed to relieve his anxiety by speaking with her, had started to wear on his conscience. That he was… changing. Before, when Draco had called her mudblood, it had never bothered her. It wasn't worth her time and energy to get worked up over something he'd said to her. But now…<p>

Now they were… closer. Not friends, but well on their way, she'd thought. He'd opened up to her. He'd told her secrets. And though it was partially because he knew the vow was in place, he's still chosen her, Hermione Granger, who's blood was as oppositely impure as Draco's, to confide in. He choose her to take the vow with. Didn't that _mean_ something?

Apparently not.

He wasn't changing at all. Oh, he may not want to commit murder, but that was where his empathy ended. He still supported Voldemort's cause; he just didn't want to bloody his hands.

Resolved, Hermione let the hope of saving him die. Draco Malfoy was a lost cause. There would be no more meetings.

* * *

><p>Draco was desperate. It had been a month, and Granger refused to look at him. She avoided his gaze, she ignored his murmured requests for a meeting, and altogether she pretended he didn't exist.<p>

At first it had given him a sort of sick satisfaction to know he'd upset her so much. She'd obviously thought they were closer than they really were, and it felt good to knock the wind out of her sails with the truth of the matter.

The feeling did not last long. It soon became apparent that she was never going to meet with him again. She was angry, rightfully so he begrudgingly realized, and she was not going to help him anymore.

For a while it didn't matter. Life went on; he ignored her presence like a plague. She was nothing, a mudblood, what did he care at her lost company? What did he care if she wouldn't even look at him?

She was nothing.

It was a mantra he repeated over and over in his head, and the lie, even in his own thoughts, was bitter.

And then many things happened at once. The school year was ending. He'd be back at the Manor in no time, and then what? Would his father force him to take the mark, or would he be granted the two years until graduation, as his mother had made Lucius promise? He hoped silently that Potter killed Voldemort by then.

It was late one night when Draco was wandering the halls, worry eating at him at the thought of taking the mark over the summer holiday, when there was a commotion near the hospital wing. He went to hide himself, but before he could move Dumbledore had appeared around the corner, he and other faculty members levitating bodies behind them.

Granger's was one of them.

His heart stopped. She was pale and motionless, and even when Snape barked at him to return to his quarters he did not move.

And the world shifted in that moment.

_Hermione… Not Hermione_, Draco thought in dull shock, watching as she and others were moved into the hospital wing with the assistance of Madam Pomfrey. It was Cedric all over again, except this time it was her, and she was his… friend.

_Oh, Merlin. Oh bloody hell. _He felt his knees shake as the revelation hit him. She was his bloody friend, the only person to ever give a damn about what he was going through, and he'd made her hate him. He hadn't talked to her for a month now, and it was his own bloody fault.

"Draco, to your house, I said!" Snape hissed, clenching his teeth through his words.

Draco seemed to come back to himself. "Is Her- … Are they…"

Professor Snape raised a brow high into his hairline. "They are not dead. Now go!"

Draco shook as he turned and began to walk away, feeling as though his world had been pulled from beneath his feet. She was alive. She was his… He could not bring himself to think the word again. It was too late to fix this. He knew it in his bones. She was gone to him. She would never trust him again.

His shaky walk had turned into a very undignified run as he raced on heavy feet to his common room. Once there he threw himself onto a couch by the fire, briefly registering that the area was empty and he was glad of it. Then his mind went blank, and the only thing he saw was the flicking of bright orange flames, and the only thing he thought was a deep and empty void of nothing.

It was hours later, when the first rays of sun began to peek into the small dungeon windows, that he received the owl telling him his father was in Azkaban.

_You'll awaken  
>Someday when it's too late<br>You'll suddenly find me gone.  
>Will my memory haunt you long?<br>Will you wake up at nights to my song?_

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><p><strong>AN**: Reviews are always wanted! Needed! Craved! Also, I have no beta. ... Any bites? :)


	3. Dark Deeds

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter in any way shape or form. I make no profit from this fan made fiction. Please do not sue me, I have no money.

_**A/N:**_ Just a quick note. Last chapter ended year 5, we are now beginning on a new year. Once more, I'd like to remind you that this story is AU! Things will definitely begin to change from the books outline now.

**Muddy **

**Chapter 3: Dark Deeds **

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><p>6th year…<p>

Looking down at Harry Potter, smirking as he covered his enemy with his own invisibility cloak, Draco felt a surge of satisfaction. He'd been angry, so very angry, all damn summer. It felt good, in a detached and cruel sort of way, to take that anger out on Potter. But as he left the train his elation of seeing his bespectacled adversary lying immobile on the floor began to ebb and fade. His last and possibly only hope of finding a way out of this mess was now lying on the floor of the Hogwarts Express, freely bleeding.

He held his temples as he walked, grimacing as the headache began. He didn't need Potter. He could do this. He could do this and then take his family into hiding. They would be safe and free of the Dark Lord. They could wait until the war was over, or relocate to a safer, distant continent. They could put a whole damn ocean between themselves and the Dark Lord and move to bloody Canada. They could…

They could…

Draco faltered at the carriages, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle as they flanked him. There, hooked to the coach, with black wings furling and tail flicking this way and that, was a Thestral. It was massive, its red eyes cutting to Draco's and its nostrils flaring. He closed his eyes to the scene, willing his breathing to come normally. With eyes closed, however, he could see the reason for the visualization of a Thestral- the reason for its presence. Draco could see the dead muggle on the floor of the manors expansive entrance hall, her lifeless eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. His aunt had cackled madly, as she'd been the one to deliver the killing blow, and Draco had been forced to look on as though he'd not had a care in the world. As if the life at his feet had meant nothing.

And never mind that she'd had long bushy brown hair.

That was where the resemblance to Hermione ended, but it was enough. Enough that all summer he had to constantly remind himself that it had not been Granger on the floor of his manor home, and that instead the broken and battered body had been an unknown muggle. Not that the thought had helped ease the pain of seeing another person- of magical ability or not- die callously before his very eyes.

Draco staved off the impulse to drag a hand through his hair- a nervous gesture he'd become very used to doing over the summer. Taking several deep breaths he managed push all emotion to the back of his mind, using a coping technique he'd developed over the summer in which he imagined that his memories were being flung into a locked box, and that locked box thrown into another, and so on and so forth until a very large chest remained, sealed and chained and impenetrable. He thought of nothing as he entered the carriage, ignoring the massive horse-like creature hooked to the front of it, and consequently ignoring the memory of the reason why he could see said creature.

It was as he took his seat at the Slytherin table later that panic set in. He could _not_ do this. Even if he could follow through with his task (and that wasn't bloody likely) where could he go that Lord Voldemort would not find him? The ends of the earth wouldn't be far enough. And that was only if he was able to perform his task.

Draco chanced a look at the main table. Professor Snape was watching him coolly, his face an unreadable mask. And there beside the former potions master (announcements had just been made revealing his placement into Defense Against the Dark Arts) was Headmaster Dumbledore. Draco rested his head in his hand, the other arm reaching down and clutching his stomach as it recoiled. His mouth filled with bile and his head began to spin. He fought to keep down the little bit of bread and pumpkin juice he'd forced himself to eat. He could feel sweat on his brow and palms, could feel his legs begin to shake.

"_I can't kill anyone,"_ he thought, ignoring as Pansy placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. _"I can't do this."_

"Must have been something I ate," he reassured weakly to the still fawning Pansy, shrugging off her hand. It was in that moment that he lifted his head, and his eyes met Grangers.

His eyes met _Hermione's_.

She was looking at him from her place at the Gryffindor table with open interest. Her eyes broke contact to look up at Dumbledore, then back at him. Her brow furrowed.

"_Please come talk to me,"_ he begged her with his eyes. _"Bloody hell, please come talk to me." _

Hermione's face immediately shut down as she correctly surmised his look. Breaking eye contact she struck up a conversation with Potter, who was looking a right mess now that he'd made his way to the Great Hall. Still, Draco hoped she'd read him right, that she'd come to him at least with curiosity spurring her on. Surely she would, surely she'd be willing to give him another chance? His chest heaved as his heart suddenly increased in tempo. It wasn't likely. He'd made it clear these last two years that he saw her as nothing more than a mudblood, there to serve a purpose. But now… Now what did she serve? He clutched at chest, willing his heart rate to slow its pace, willing his panic to subside.

She was his friend. Merlin help him, but there it was. And with the marking and marring of his forearm with that revolting Dark Mark, it was never clearer. She was his friend, and killing anyone in the name of the Dark Lord would be as comparable to murdering her. She was everything he was supposed to hate, everything that he was to face against. And standing with the Dark Lord, performing his dark deeds, would slander what he'd begun to have with her- before he'd gone and screwed it all up.

Still, Draco held out the hope that maybe, possibly, her bleeding Gryffindor heart was going to badger her into complying with his silent request. It was late when he slipped from the Slytherin common room, and later still when he made his way to the astronomy tower. It was empty when he got there and he felt his heart drop to his feet. Shaking his head he made his way to the nearest desk, dropping onto the hard backed chair unceremoniously and in a very un-Malfoy like fashion. He could feel his eyes immediately begin to slide closed, exhaustion overtaking him at an alarming rate. It was past midnight, there was no conceivable way that Hermione was going to show, and still Draco forced his eyes to stay wide and semi alert. Maybe he was wrong; maybe she would come…

"Please come," he whispered to the un-responding classroom.

Dark thoughts swirled around him as they had done all summer. An unending loop of what would happened to his family if he failed this task, shadowed by the dread and certainty of what would happen if he _did_ follow through. It was a quarter past two when his head lightly hit the desk, his breathing signifying defeat as it slowed with sleep. He jerked awake at half past six. Hermione had not come.

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><p>Weeks later Hermione sat at her house table, watching as Malfoy entered the Great Hall. He looked awful. Yes, his hair was nary out of place, and his clothes were as immaculate as ever, but with those exceptions he looked like the muggle movie versions of the walking dead. He was thin, much thinner than his usual slight frame. He looked malnourished and underfed- his tall stature accentuating that fact. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and the skin under them held the dark rings that were telltale signs of lack of sleep. When he wasn't clutching his hands into balled fists at his sides they would shake, and almost unconsciously he'd stated to run a palm through his hair in an agitated, nervous way.<p>

When Draco's eyes met hers, Hermione looked quickly away. All through the week he'd been trying to get her attention, trying to get her to read the plain looks he'd throw her way, practically begging her to help him. And in the most uncharacteristic way imaginable, she ignored those looks. Hermione had to. It was all she could do.

Through the summer break she'd thought of the pale and arrogant boy often. She thought of the Vow, and his willingness to open up to her during the many months of their 5th year. And then her thoughts would turn to the callous way he'd spoken of her, of the name he'd called her. It wasn't what a decent sort of person did. Not when she'd helped him so. Not when she'd thrown aside her own hesitance and reserve to help a boy who had done nothing but attempt to make her life pure misery. Not that he'd ever succeeded. Hermione was better than that, better then falling victim to a bully's antics.

Or, so she had thought.

But then Draco had made her care for him. He'd shown her… more of himself. He was still that spoiled, selfish boy she'd always known, but he was also empathetic, in a way. He cared about others, at least enough that he had no desire to see someone killed, or to be the hand that caused it. He was no murderer. And… at times… he could be _kind_.

Hermione had felt perplexed when she'd first thought of the word to describe him, kind certainly not what she'd ever deemed to call him before the Vow. But there it was, staring her blatantly in the face. At least, she'd begun to think so for a time. He could be kind, when he wasn't thinking about what was gained from it, or if it suited him to be so. He cared about what happened to others. He worried over her safety, pained over the death of Cedric. And, though she was sure he'd never meant to show her his true feelings, he'd been… nice to her. He cast warming charms around the abandoned tower when it had grown cold, but only when he'd noticed her shiver. He'd inquired if she'd been sleeping well enough when the meetings became more frequent. He'd urged her once to see Madame Pomfrey when she thought she'd been coming down with a cold. And though he'd said it was so he didn't catch it as well he'd seemed relived, somewhat, when she'd told him the very next evening that she'd been given a clean bill of health and a Pepper-Up Potion.

So kind had been a word Hermione once used to describe him, but not now. Not after what he'd said. Not after the way he'd proved that he cared nothing for the seeming friendship that was just beginning to blossom. No. She was a mudblood to him, and who could ever be kind or friendly to such a person?

But now he seemed so destitute, so in need of her company, and it was hard to ignore him. To pretend she didn't notice or care for his silent pleas for help. And it was impossible not to spot all the outward signs of stress. The way he seemed to be deteriorating before her very eyes. Harry and Ron had not remarked though, so perhaps it was only because she had spent so much time with him that she noticed.

And it was not lost on her all the time he spent looking nervously to Professor Dumbledore. When Harry had first mentioned he suspected Draco had taken the path of his father and had become a Death Eater, Hermione had dismissed the thought. Not after what she knew. Draco would never…

But he might. If his family were threatened. He cared for his father, though he disagreed with his beliefs, and he loved his mother very much. Draco would have shouldered the responsibility of caring for her once his father was imprisoned. So if her life had been in danger…

Hermione felt her head spin. If Draco's mother had been threatened he'd have taken the Dark Mark, and he'd not have had a second thought in doing so. He loved her. It was so obvious, so clear on his face when he spoke of her, that Hermione knew he'd have done anything to protect her if he thought her at risk. And with Lucius in Azkaban, she certainly was in danger- the entire Malfoy family was. They had failed the Darkest Wizard the world had ever seen. _Of course_ they were in danger. And it would be just like Voldemort to take the fathers failings out on the son.

Still, even with these revelations, Hermione could not bring herself to forgive, to move on. She could not bring herself to put aside her hurt feelings to meet him- as his eyes begged her to do. It would take, in her opinion, a very compelling apology.

She did not know how wretched she would feel when she finally got it.

* * *

><p>A month went by, then another. Draco thought he was going insane. He wasn't eating but for a few bites here and there at meal times (mostly stew or bread). He wasn't sleeping but for the few hours a night, when his body would forcefully shut down in spite of his resolve to stay awake. And there was screaming in his head. He could feel his heart race, his ears begin to ring, and he could hear the shrieking of… panic. It was always there, in the recesses of his mind, and at those times he'd want to curl into a corner and sob, with the inexplicable desire to rock back and forth with the tempo of his racing heart. But he did not. He knew if it ever came to the point where he truly broke down, he would not be able to pick himself back up again. He would be irredeemably broken once that happened, and Draco could not afford that. Not when his mother and father were depending on him to keep them alive. So he would push the panic and the screaming voice aside and carry on as if it were nothing, trying to function as if it were just another day while ignoring the ever growing swell of fear and anxiety.<p>

But it was difficult to ignore, chiefly because of the cabinet. Draco wasn't making any headway. His mother had written, telling him she was fine and well, but Draco had seen the way her neat scrawl had faltered when her hand shook, and he knew the opposite to be true. So the urge to fix the destroyed Vanishing Cabinet became all-consuming. And yet… he faltered. He gave minimal effort. Because if it were fixed…

He'd be the cause of many deaths. He knew this to be true.

Another month passed before Draco broke. His hair was in constant disarray now- the once silver-blonde locks dull and tangled. He'd begun to ignore the customary spick-and-span spell his father had taught him (every muttered incantation reminded him painfully that the Dark Lord would murder his father in the wake of any failure on his part), which caused his hair to slick back in it customary style. It now draped limply to his shoulders, falling into his eyes when he was not running a nervous hand through it- pushing it back out of his face, his nails scraping his scalp harshly as he did so. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and dark circles were ever present. He was grinding his teeth- awake and in his sleep. He'd catch himself doing it, clenching so hard he was surprised his molars hadn't cracked. Subsequently, his head throbbed without reprieve- ranging daily from a dull ache to a vomit inducing migraine.

He was going mad. And with every look at Dumbledore, every plea from Professor Snape (the man had begun to harass him for details of his task- began to implore him to aid with it), every averted glance from Hermione, he felt himself slip deeper and deeper into psychosis. He could not seek help from the man he was to kill. He could not accept help from the man who was… _one of them_. And he would not receive help from the only person he trusted.

He began to wonder what it would feel like to throw himself from one of the abandoned classrooms windows. To feel the cool air, the cutting wind, blow his concerns into the oblivion. But then… his parents. A death for Draco would surely be a death for them as well.

It was well into the school year when it finally happened. He was in the hall, walking by himself without real purpose to his next class, when he spotted Hermione. She glanced at him, and whatever she saw made her wince. In fact, without Potter or Weasley, she looked more apt to speak to him than ever she had before, opening her mouth to speak. But then she seemed to come to her senses, because she shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs and moved with the purpose Draco had been lacking further down the hall.

Draco snapped. It was this blatant display of disregard that caused it to happen; her lack of concern (or rather, her ignoring it out of spite) tipped him over the edge. He turned and followed her, many students watching with raised brows as he caught up to and grabbed Hermione by the arm. Plenty of said students were Slytherins, and they now watched with open curiosity (as did Gryffindor's- though the looks were considerably more hostile).

"Stop ignoring me," Draco hissed, pushing her firmly into the stone wall, his hand squeezing her upper arm in a vice-like grip.

"You're hurting me," Hermione hissed back, jabbing him in the chest with her free hand.

Draco's grip lessened, but he held her steadfast. He would have his say. Having enough lucidity to realize others were listening, he dragged Hermione, who grunted in protest, into the nearest empty classroom and charmed the lock with an errant backward glance. There came pounding behind the now sealed door, some ridiculous Gryffindor yelling for another to _"Get Harry! Get Dumbledore!"_

Draco cast a silencing charm as well. Looking at Hermione, he thought briefly she was going to scream at him, her eyes looked wild with rage. But when she looked at him- _really looked_- her anger seemed to deteriorate. Instead she was left with a wary, almost frightened expression.

"Please listen to me," Draco croaked, not even caring that he sounded so desperate. His heart had begun to beat a fast and reckless tempo. He'd tell her now, _he_ _had_ _to tell her_. "Please just… stop ignoring me. I'm sorry I called you that name, Hermione. But please… _please_. I can't do this anymore."

Draco would think later that it had been the use of her first name, or perhaps the rare and pleading apology that preluded it, that caused her to look so white with shock. His hands shook as he reached out to her, gripping her shoulders without the biting edge they had held before.

Suddenly, everything felt wrong. His thoughts became chaotic, disjointed. And that screaming he'd been able to stave off all times before felt as though it would come ripping from his throat. "He's going to make me kill him," Draco rambled, shaking her without any real force. The screaming in his head had grown so much louder now, and his vision was tunneling. "He's going to kill _me_," he continued, his speech becoming faster- more and more urgent. "He'll kill you, too. Everyone. And my aunt. _She_ killed you. Not _you_. But it was you in here." At this he jabbed at his temple. Didn't she understand? Why was she trying to backing away?

"Draco… Calm down," Hermione began, but he cut her off. "No! You don't understand!"

And this was the moment he _showed_ her (_why_ didn't she understand?). Draco felt nauseous now, his head pounding, but he continued on with manic purpose. He lifted his sleeve hastily, ripping his expensive sweater in the process. And there, ugly and marring his skin with its back ink, was the wicked skull and twisting serpent. It seemed to grin malevolently up at him, at Hermione, who was now slack jawed.

"Please… Please, help me. I don't deserve it, I know. … But please-"

It was then that the door shattered open, and before Draco could even turn he felt the stunning spell hit him in the chest.

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoyed it, though. I'll try to correct any mistakes later, but for now, by bed is calling! Oh, and please review!

And you read that right, by the way. The spell hit his chest, not his back. Chew on that. :)


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